


every night I burn

by kelidahauk



Series: crow black dreams [1]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Aged-Up Character(s), Alternate Universe - Yakuza, Biting, Developing Relationship, Enemies to Lovers, Feelings Realization, Frottage, Getting Together, Grinding, Hand Jobs, Hate to Love, Injury Recovery, Intimacy, Kageyama Tobio is Bad at Feelings, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Porn With Plot, Porn with Feelings, Protective Kageyama Tobio, Sexual Tension, Tsukishima Kei is Bad at Feelings, foes to hoes, sword kink
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 05:21:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,801
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25299055
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kelidahauk/pseuds/kelidahauk
Summary: “You’re going to be dead,” Tobio told him, fiercely, “because I’m going to kill you.”And then he was consumed with desire, all reason and logic leaving his mind as Tsukishima looked at him through half-lidded golden eyes and said, challengingly,“Not if I wreck you first.”
Relationships: Kageyama Tobio/Tsukishima Kei
Series: crow black dreams [1]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1845355
Comments: 24
Kudos: 206





	every night I burn

**Author's Note:**

> In this series, hitman Kageyama of the Karasuno crime family has been assigned to guard lawyer Tsukishima, who is recovering [from getting jumped on the streets](https://archiveofourown.org/works/25127758). What happens when you put two assholes together? They fight a lot, develop a begrudging respect, and catch the feels. Motherfucking Sugawara knew what he was doing when he assigned Tobio to bodyguard Kei: he's the original tkkg shipper in this AU, bless him.
> 
> Look at this incredible fanart of [sword-wielding Tsukishima](https://twitter.com/ITrashbin/status/1293530004580704256), done by the talented Iwa-trashbin! It does things to me... like Kei does to Kags.

Tobio was _angry._ “Take good care of him,” Suga-san had said, and Tobio always followed the orders issued by his wakagashira without question. But Tsukishima Kei was making his job incredibly difficult. Tobio was used to tough jobs, but he was also used to _killing_ the subject of his assignment. Unfortunately, killing Tsukishima would mean he failed this job. And Kageyama Tobio did not fail, not anymore, not since all that shit that went down with the Seijoh syndicate. Still, his fingers itched; he wanted nothing more, at this very minute, to wrap them around that slender, pale throat, and throttle the asshole causing him so much grief.

The problem was this: Tsukishima had snuck out of his apartment, letting Tobio think he had gone to bed so he’d let his guard down. What use was a _goddamn bodyguard_ when you gave him the slip and went out on your own at night to do whatever the fuck it was Tsukishima was out there doing? It frustrated him to no end that the blonde bean pole had even been capable of sneaking past him, and that made him even angrier. He was furious with himself. Because Tobio knew that Tsukishima managing to evade him meant that he’d let his guard down around him, and the implications of that were truly terrifying.

He caught Tsukishima as he was creeping up the stairs to the loft where he slept, well into the early hours of the morning. The sun would be rising soon. When Tobio had realized his charge had snuck out sometime after midnight, he had planted himself firmly on the top step and _waited._ And as he waited, he _seethed._ He imagined their confrontation: Tsukishima had probably gone out to meet Tendou, because Tobio knew he’d made it clear how much he disliked the One-Eyed Demon of Shiratorizawa. He’d probably come in, drunk, because when Tsukishima was around Tendou, he made poor life choices, like drinking to excess and exposing himself to greater danger. Tobio practiced the words he would say to Drunkshima, because if he didn’t rehearse, his anger would choke them off at his throat. He was prepared to forbid, _as if he could_ , the sick and misguided friendship between the two of them.

What he didn’t expect was to find Tsukishima fully-functional, hyper-aware, _elated_ and— _is that blood spattered on him?_ His current burden, as he often thought of the lawyer, stopped several stairs below Tobio, peering at him through the soft shadows in the loft, and his golden eyes were positively radiant. Tobio felt his throat go dry as they fell on him, and he tried to focus on something else, _anything_ else. Instead, he scanned Tsukishima’s body, looking for the source of the blood. That was also a problem. 

It was a problem because Tsukishima was unbearably attractive and Tobio didn’t like considering such things. Those kinds of thoughts _always_ came to no good. They interfered with his work. They made him soft, lured him into trusting Tsukishima, who took off on his own at his first chance. But Tobio couldn’t help _looking_ more frequently these days, no matter how hard he tried not to, just like he was looking now. 

The dark gray and black striped hakama Tsukishima wore exaggerated those already too-long legs, and Tobio was painfully aware of how the blonde could tower over him if he chose to do so. The black kimono was wrapped tightly at his waist, emphasizing the deep V-shape of his torso descending into his hips. The pretty boy lawyer had tied the sleeves up at the shoulder, and his arms, while long and pale and slender, also had faint shadows outlining the curvature of muscle. Tobio felt the inexplicable urge to dip his tongue into those shadows.

The blood was spattered across bare, lightly-muscled forearms, speckled across an elegant and slender neck that begged to be throttled. Tobio could see a drop resting there, in the hollow of his throat, and it was smudged on a cheek, as if Tsukishima had impatiently dragged his hand across his face at some point when it was still fresh. Peeking over each shoulder was the grip of a katana. Tobio had the sudden, irrational urge to draw his handgun and aim it at him, to demand him to disarm, to demand him to stay safe, to demand him to _listen_ to his demands.

“Kageyama,” the blonde said, fixating his eyes on his bodyguard. “I’m sorry I woke you. If you’ll excuse me, I’ll get out of your way. I should be going to bed.” Though his words were formal, his face was relaxed, his eyes shining, the corners of his lips turned up into a lazy smile. His whole body, disguised like some sort of godforsaken samurai, positively hummed with energy. Tobio doubted Tsukishima would be able to sleep any time soon. So he told him that.

“If I can’t sleep,” Tobio said, “neither can you. You can’t _leave_ without me. You’re my _job_.” 

_I_ _don’t want you to leave._

A shadow crossed Tsukishima’s face before he wiped his expression perfectly clean: a habit, Tobio had come to observe, that he fell into when he didn’t like what he heard, or when he was getting defensive about one of the multitude of things that could irritate him without any sort of prior warning.

“I told you,” Tsukishima said, “I don’t need a bodyguard anymore. I can protect myself.”

Tobio was enraged. Tobio was on fire. He _seethed_ and he _burned._ “You can’t,” he practically spat, and he could see _that asshole_ draw back at the vitriol in his words, a startled expression on his face.

“I can,” Tsukishima said, his voice calm despite his surprise, as if he were attempting to soothe a wild animal. “I’m healed now. I have the tattoo now. I won’t be getting beaten again.”

“I am going to _beat_ you,” Tobio declared, and rose to his feet. “Right now. So you _learn._ ” The stairs of the loft opened into a spacious practice studio, all high ceilings and brick walls and wooden floors, and Tobio stalked into it. He ripped the two iron-cored bokken they usually used off the stand of practice weapons and flung one at Tsukishima, who had followed him mutely into the room. The pretty boy lawyer deftly caught the wooden weapon, staring at it for a moment before locking his gaze onto Tobio’s own simmering blue eyes. He shrugged the real weapons off his back, allowing them to slide to the floor behind him.

“You’re not going to beat me with swords,” Tsukishima said, quietly, as if he were speaking to a misbehaving child. “You might have, before, when I was injured. But I’m fine now, and I’m better with them than you are.”

Tobio felt something inside himself explode. His whole body was vibrating. He was _the Black Dog of Karasuno, goddammit,_ and he wasn't going to be beaten in combat by a _fucking lawyer_. He placed both his hands on the grip, the correct way that Tsukishima had shown him months ago when they first started practicing together, and swung the sword at his chest without warning. There were no warnings in the real world.

Tobio hadn’t even seen him move, but Tsukishima’s sword was up, easily parrying the blow. He held it slanted in front of him, the tip tilted toward Tobio’s body, the strong part of the blade knocking away Tobio’s strike. He _shoved_ forward then, keeping their blades locked together, and Tobio felt pleasure coil deep in the pit of his stomach as those golden eyes widened at the forced contact. He knew Tsukishima played by tournament rules, but _fuck_ tournaments. 

This was _real life_. 

This was _life or death._

He needed to _learn._

And Tobio was going to teach that arrogant asshole that _playing with swords_ wasn’t the same as _fighting for your life._ That Tsukishima _needed_ him to survive this cruel world, whether he knew it or not.

The tall blond took a graceful step back, placing his feet delicately on the floor, and then he _twisted_ the bokken somehow and _slid_ to his right, and Tobio was stumbling forward, the pressure on his sword gone. Tsukishima’s wooden weapon slammed into his right shoulder and Tobio felt his arm go numb before the nerves lit on fire, pinpricks shooting through him. If it had been a real sword, he would have lost the limb. He snarled wordlessly at the blow. It would take a harder hit than that to stop him.

“We shouldn’t spar when you’re angry,” Tsukishima said, as practical as always, but Tobio just readjusted his grip and came at him again with a flurry of strikes. He felt several solid hits break through – he landed one on a narrow hip and one on a thigh, hard enough that he knew they’d bruise that pale skin, but his opponent just grunted, kept his guard high, and counterattacked. 

The tip of Tsukishima’s wooden blade drove deep into Tobio’s diaphragm and all the air escaped him in a silent, harsh puff. While he struggled to inhale, the _goddamn shingiin_ swatted his blade out of line, lazily, as if he were batting aside a fly. He then took a single step forward, within Tobio’s range, and pressed the curved length of his own wooden sword against his throat. Were the blade real steel, the assassin would be dead.

“I win,” Tsukishima said, his voice low and rough and full of some sort of meaning that Tobio couldn’t interpret. 

Tobio met Tsukishima’s eyes, inches from his face. They were wild, shining with a kind of feral energy he’d never seen before when they’d fought, even though they’d practiced incessantly for months to help rehab his shoulder wound. This close, he could see how his eyes were flecked through with a warmer brown hue, even though his pupils were blown wide and shining. It wasn’t easy to beat Tobio and Tsukishima knew it. His thin lips were curled into a very smug smile and Tobio wanted to ~~kiss it~~ knock it off his face.

He slammed his left hand against Tsukishima’s stomach, palm spread wide to disperse the full power of the blow. He felt rock-hard abdominals tighten even more, impossibly so, under his touch. When the shingiin doubled over with a soft sound, Tobio shoved his right shoulder into his chest, knocking him back against the exposed brick wall. The blond may be graceful and fast, but Tobio was broader and stronger, and he used that muscle and weight to his advantage, just like he would on the unforgiving streets. He was on him in an instant, dropping his sword to the ground beneath them, forgotten, as his arms locked onto Tsukishima’s shoulders.

Tobio panted harshly as he held Tsukishima in place, pinned on the wall, as his oxygen-starved lungs were finally able to breathe again. “I win,” he said at last, his voice breaking on the words.

The other bokken dropped to the floor as well with a sharp clatter, and then Tsukishima’s hands were pressed against Tobio’s chest, as if he wanted to push him away but didn’t have the strength to. Tobio could feel his heart pounding wildly underneath those hands, and he wondered, _can he feel that too?_ Still, that smug grin never left the blond’s face. Tobio had never pinned anyone in this position before without seeing terror in their eyes. Instead, Tsukishima looked— _what was that look?_ It was an entirely new expression of dawning comprehension, smug and satisfied and mad and driven, that was spreading across the lawyer’s flushed features.

The hands on Tobio’s chest slid up and lay against his throat, and he flinched at the touch before forcing himself to remain still. It took every bit of experience he’d gained stalking targets over the years to make himself stay motionless underneath Tsukishima’s touch. It was raw and electric, and Tobio felt himself twitch despite his best efforts. The fingertips lingered there, fluttering against his skin before Tobio reacted on some sort of base instinct: this was _dangerous_. 

His body moved without warning, and he _lifted_ and _slammed_ Tsukishima back into the wall. Another soft sound escaped his opponent as he made contact with the brick, but those fingers failed to let go. Instead, they slid higher, pale and long and feather-light, and they were cupping Tobio’s jaw, thumbing roughly at his lips.

“ _Fuck,”_ Tsukishima groaned as if he were dying, and then he was jerking Tobio’s face forward to smash their lips together.

Tsukishima kissed him thoroughly, expertly, his lips soft against Tobio’s even as the assassin could feel those maddening fingers tangling roughly through his silky black hair. He was held in place by those hands and those burning lips as he came undone underneath them. His body was shaking, his breath shallow and harsh, and he screwed his eyes shut, not knowing whether he should _flee or fight._ This was pure adrenaline, in its most concentrated form, and Tobio felt _alive_. From somewhere within, some primal instinct finally took over. He could feel himself leaning into the kiss, pushing back, nipping at Tsukishima’s lips – fighting even this.

“Do that again,” Tsukishima demanded as they parted to take gasping breaths, and Tobio complied, his mind reeling as he tried to analyze what exactly was going on. Nothing was making sense, but he _wanted,_ oh, _he wanted._ He lifted Tsukishima effortlessly and shoved him back into the wall again, since he’d asked for it. He thought he would do anything Tsukishima asked of him, and that was probably a problem, too. But he pushed that thought away as he crowded his trembling body closer, pressing their hips together, forcing one of his thighs between Tsukishima’s to hold him in place. He wouldn’t stop squirming against Tobio and the movement was driving him to the brink of insanity. His leg was engulfed with heat as the blonde ground into it, a groan escaping his lips. Tobio swallowed it up.

The hands left his hair and Tobio was able to drop his head down to the hollow of Tsukishima’s throat, where he’d seen that speck of blood that had so irritated him earlier. It was gone now, shed by the sweat coming off of their bodies, so Tobio laved his tongue against the spot, _once, twice, thrice,_ tasting salt and the hint of copper before dragging his mouth to the side and biting into muscle. That drew another moan from the pretty boy lawyer, and at that startlingly loud sound, Tobio became aware that the missing hands were fumbling at the waist of his pants. He tilted his hips back, giving them more room to work as he concentrated very intently on leaving a series of small bruises along Tsukishima’s collarbone. He was _very good_ at giving bruises, and this proved no exception.

Tsukishima made a soft sound of protest as Tobio pulled back, but those beautiful, long fingers made quick work of unfastening his belt and unzipping his pants. It was Tobio’s turn to be attacked, then, and he felt the hands slide within the waistband of his underwear before pushing both offending articles of clothing off his hips. 

Tobio was exposed, in more ways than one. He was impossibly hard, and hot, and _vulnerable,_ and he heard himself whine as Tsukishima bent down, dug his strong fingers into the cheeks of his ass, and forcefully ground their hips together. The fabric of the hakama was rough against him and Tobio whined again, overstimulated but somehow still wanting more.

He let go of Tsukishima’s shoulders then, only to twist his fingers into the V-neck of the black kimono, ripping it to the side. The neckline fell open as the garment was pulled forcefully out of the striped pants, baring a pale chest. Tobio was _enraged_ to see a bruise darkening across Tsukishima’s rib cage. Some of the blood that had splattered across Tsukishima had obviously ran below the neckline of the kimono, and Tobio smudged it with his hands as they traveled lower, goosebumps springing up in his wake.

“ _Who?”_ he demanded, furiously, as his hands fumbled over the bruise before he settled them firmly against Tsukishima’s narrow waist. He dug his thumbs into the hollows of his hips, glaring even as he continued to grind helplessly against him.

“Doesn’t matter,” Tsukishima sighed in his ear, his tongue delicately tracing the side of his neck. “He’s dead, now.” Tobio shuddered as the blond wrapped a hand around his cock, stroking it firmly.

“ _You’re_ going to be dead,” Tobio told him, fiercely, “because I’m going to _kill you_.” He meant for sneaking out, earlier, but the heat was gone out of his words now, pulled from his voice and into his other limbs. His hands felt so hot against Tsukishima’s hips that he was surprised he hadn’t set the other man on fire with his touch. 

The hand that was stroking him paused in its efforts and Tobio used that moment to take a shaking breath, trying to collect himself, attempting to clear his head. Tsukishima retreated from him a little bit, then, ducking down so his gaze was on level with Tobio’s. Their eyes met and their breath mingled, and Tobio had the presence of mind to note the pink coloring spread across Tsukishima’s face, from the tips of his ears to the end of his nose. He took in the impossibly-swollen lips and the bruise on his jaw that he hadn’t even realized he’d left. And then he was consumed with desire, all reason and logic leaving his mind as Tsukishima looked at him through half-lidded golden eyes and said, challengingly,

“Not if I _wreck_ you first.”

Tobio snarled and tangled his hands in the ties at Tsukishima’s waist, ripping at them, driven by a carnal need to remove the fabric that separated them. The hakama fell, pooling at their feet in waves of striped linen, and Tsukishima wore nothing underneath, as was tradition. Tobio froze, then, his hands on those bare hips, uncertain. There _was_ a bruise under his hands, from where he’d struck him with the sword, and Tobio’s fingers twisted spasmodically into it. 

But Tsukishima moved with a confidence that Tobio envied, letting go of his cock in favor of bringing both hands up his back, tracing his scarred tattoo underneath the tight-fitting black t-shirt he wore like a uniform. Tobio could feel his hair raise at that intimate touch, and he crowded against Tsukishima again, invading his personal space, letting out a soft sigh as he felt their cocks slide against each other. 

“I want--” he started, and one arm gripped him tightly across the back, the other falling back down to push on his ass. There was no space between them.

“Tell me,” Tsukishima commanded before kissing him senseless again. It helped to clear his mind, but it didn’t help the words come. 

As their hips fucked together and their cocks rubbed, slick with precome, it was all Tobio could do to whine, panting with exertion like he’d been running for hours, “I want… I want… _I want--”_

Against him, Tsukishima was shuddering, his eyes closed. “Tell me,” he repeated, and the roughness of his voice shot a thrill up Tobio’s spine. Still, he couldn’t answer, and Tsukishima apparently took pity on him because he offered, in a softer, more hesitant tone than before, “...me?”

“ _You_ ,” Tobio breathed, and then he came, harder, much harder than he’d ever made himself come before on his single mattress or in his single shower stall in his lonely apartment. Tsukishima captured his lips in another kiss as he unraveled in his arms, the hand splayed across his ass the only thing that kept him upright as his knees buckled from the force of his orgasm. The blond ignored the spatter of come on the black kimono and kissed Tobio like he was the only thing in the world, like he could suck his soul out through his mouth, and maybe he could, because Tobio thought he was leaving his body behind for the afterlife.

When he finally stopped shaking, his face burrowed into Tsukishima’s neck, breathing in his scent, he felt those long limbs unwind from around him. Tobio made a sound of protest, opening his eyes at the sudden loss of warmth. He’d been so cold for so long that he was reluctant to give up the heat. But Tsukishima merely repositioned his hands. 

He grasped Tobio’s chin with his left and tilted it up, holding him firmly in place as they locked eyes once again, letting his right hand loop around his cock. He held that eye contact as long as he could, jerking himself off with his other hand, short, hard strokes, and then the hand that held Tobio was positively _crushing_ his face as he started shaking. Tobio couldn’t bring himself to care, instead electing to watch with fascination as Tsukishima’s eyes rolled back in his head, his mouth hanging slack as he added to the wetness between them. 

They stood like that for several minutes, Tsukishima’s hand on his face, Tobio’s hands on his hips, just breathing together, crashing back down to reality. As his heart began to slow its frantic pace, Tobio felt the heat rise in his face. He couldn’t bear the weight of those softened gold eyes upon his any longer. He tried to duck his head, closing his eyes, but Tsukishima’s grip remained firm, holding him in place.

“Did you mean it?” Tsukishima asked finally, and Tobio was overcome by the fear in his voice. Even when he’d seen Tsukishima beaten and bruised and near death, he’d never seen him _afraid._ When Tobio had him pinned against the wall, murderous intent written on every inch of his body, Tsukishima had trusted him too much to be terrified. It was that hitch of uncertainty in a voice that was always confident that broke Tobio. His eyes flew open and he examined Tsukishima’s face, mutely, willing the words to come and then willing Tsukishima to understand when they didn’t. He had so much to say, but his voice always betrayed him.

“Yes,” he managed, finally, and just like that the fear was gone from _his_ pretty boy lawyer’s face. That same grin, that same smug expression from earlier spread slowly, from ear to ear, and this time Tobio couldn’t help thinking, _it's because of me, it's for me._

“Good,” Tsukishima said, and leaned in to kiss him again. And then-- “ _I win,”_ and Tobio couldn’t find the strength to argue with that _absolute asshole_ again. At least not right now, when he was pleasantly warm and tired and _fucking w_ _recked_ , as threatened. 

They could have a rematch, later.

**Author's Note:**

> Title was inspired by the song [Burn by The Cure](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=mfTkL-ZHDCY), which I consider to be lawyer Tsukki's theme. 
> 
> Massive kudos to Koma, owner of the yakuza AU Discord, who encouraged me to write my very first smut (this is it. this is my very first smut).
> 
> You can follow me [on Twitter](https://twitter.com/kelidahauk) if you appreciate sword kinks, the foes to hoes trope, and excessive profanity.
> 
> We have a TKKG Thirst Discord server! [Come join us to chat about TKKG!](https://discord.gg/7wGBcyH) Only 18+ and older, please; there is a lot of NSFW content there.


End file.
